


Reassemble

by ever_increasing_circles



Category: British Comedian RPF, Mock the Week RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-14
Updated: 2007-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_increasing_circles/pseuds/ever_increasing_circles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even with a new series, it's easy to fall back into old habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassemble

**Author's Note:**

> Any similarity between the fictional versions of the people portrayed here and the actual people is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
> 
> Man, remember when Michael McIntyre was on Mock the Week?

Like always, there was a certain kind of rush that came from the permanence of a recording. Not that performing live didn't bring its own kind of adrenaline, there was always something electric about the knowledge that _you_ were the one carrying the audience and if something went wrong the blame fell on your shoulders and yours alone, but... there was also the knowledge that even a bad gig would be over by the end of the evening. A studio recording, though... well, the omnipresent edit would save the best and forget the worst but you were still recorded, broadcast, kept in the BBC archives, uploaded to YouTube, MySpace, Bit Torrent, wherever. You couldn't escape that technological fact of _existing_ and that was something in itself, though by the time the actual recording was in session any such thoughts were forgotten. Make the audience laugh, say the right things, don't mess up.

It hadn't been too long since the last series, but it felt like forever. Or like no time at all. One or the other or both and neither at the same time. Russell took his seat on the right side of the set, nodded at the audience applause, looked around at the others. The set, the setup, the expectant audience and the heat of the studio lights... yes, this was it. Leaning back in his seat, Russell smiled to himself.

 _We're back._

And it went well, or so Russell felt. There was a small sense of trepidation for the knowledge of it being the first episode of a new series, but that was to be expected. Once they were sat there and Dara was doing his thing and Frankie and Hugh were doing their thing and Russell felt that he could chip in with his thing, it all came back naturally. The thought that this was the first episode of a new series - a longer series, even - suddenly became an exciting, gleeful prospect. Twelve weeks of this? Russell felt he could get used to that. Even if four of those weeks happened to fall during Edinburgh. That'd just be a different kind of adrenaline, wouldn't it? Certainly a rush, at least.

He smiled over at Michael between rounds and takes. At first, he--... he hadn't been _worried_ as per se, but he'd wondered if Michael wouldn't be better off on his and Andy's team, at least. He wouldn't have minded other than the thought of putting Michael with the established couple, would he be able to hold his own? However, Michael's wide grin barely left his face throughout the evening and Russell felt satisfied for that. When you were always telling somebody anecdotes of behind-the-scenes and in the dressing rooms, when such a thing practically became a weekly highlight of comedy and good humour, when you were introducing somebody to that fold then you wanted the experience to live up to their expectations, to your oft-stated opinions of the subject. Occasionally Russell could see the uncertainty of being dropped into a different format cross Michael's brow, but Hugh offered words of support and competence there. Scenes We'd Like To See was a hard round to get yourself into anyway, he'd assured Michael of that beforehand. Once everybody got into their stride it was basically just the competition of who could take the mike first and that _was_ the challenge, but he made sure to stress that that wasn't a _literal_ suggestion. Although that had been a memorable moment in itself, too. (Nobody stole Ed Byrne's thunder and lived to tell the tale, or something along those lines.)

There were the retakes and outtakes, mistakes and tangents, laughter and applause and somewhere in the middle of that, enough of the quiz element to fill half an hour of airtime. That was enough. It was over for another week. For this week. The first week.

(Of course, the actual recording was only half of it.)

Russell returned to his dressing room afterward, aware of the little post-recording habits and traditions. It had been a while since they'd all been like _this_ , back together again... and there was always the opportunity to see each other inbetween series, but that wasn't the _same_ somehow. Because that was part of the habit, too. Because there'd be drinks first and more later and that was just how things always were.

Going into his bag, Russell noticed a text message on his phone. He knew who it'd be from, the familiarity rather comforting as the words appeared on the screen.

" _Good luck with tonight. Look forward to seeing you on the telly again. How long until we get to be on it together? See you when you get home._ "

Of course, it was from Mark. Russell smiled at the message; it wouldn't be too long, he was sure of _that_. Some guests seemed to have marked themselves out as staples of the show and Mark Watson was one of them, though Russell wondered if that thought came from personal reasoning as much as anything else. (Probably.) Before Russell could consider this thought further, there was a knock at the door. The person knocking left no time for reply before entering but Russell was used to that. It was Dara, but that wasn't unexpected. It would have been more unexpected had he neglected to visit at all; Russell glanced up and there was no vocal greeting as Dara closed the door behind him, but something about his expression softened while his eyes remained sharp. He never came to visit if it wasn't for a purpose, after all.

Russell ignored this to begin with. "... I thought tonight went well."

Dara was not however a figure to be ignored. He walked over to Russell's chair and leant against the back of it, leaning down and folding his arms across the front of Russell's shoulders. Russell didn't look up but could see Dara behind him from the mirror in front and felt the blunt warmth of an idle kiss against the top of his head. He tried to lean away slightly but didn't really mean it, they both knew that. Because _this_ was how things always were.

"I thought so, too. It'll really pick up when you come join the rest of us, you know." Dara let his voice drop into that certain kind of whisper.

The usual things in the usual place. Russell had been holding his phone, he threw it gently against the dressing-table and let it slide to a stop against the back mirror as he leant his head back to press against Dara's shoulder. It didn't hurt to steal a private moment. Russell knew such moments not his and so could do nothing else. Still, Ed wasn't here this week, wasn't there most weeks. Would likely be back to triumphant return, but not yet. So there could be moments like this and he didn't have to know, though Dara would probably tell him. Because Dara told him everything. With things as they were, he had no real right not to. It wasn't only Dara that Russell could steal moments from, after all.

"I know, I was just checking my phone."

"Anything?"

"... No."

This only caused Russell to feel the tremor of a small laugh from Dara pressed against him. He looked into the mirror, saw Dara's smirk, saw his lips move with that one word that felt worse and truer than anything else.

"... Liar."

Russell just closed his eyes, Dara stepped away from the chair. Russell sat up and looked towards him, watching as he retreated back towards the door.

"I'm sure Andy's probably getting lonely without me. You know what those two are like, once they get started..."

You didn't have to mention names, not by this point. Russell only nodded. This was probably true, though not exactly his business. Dara's next sentence, however, was.

"... and you've got somebody waiting in the corridor yourself."

The first thought was _Mark!_ and the second thought followed quickly to berate the first for being so swift to jump to conclusions. Of course, Mark was busy these days. Some might have said too busy, but Russell never had the heart to tell him to slow down. Mark was the kind of person who always had to be doing something and in the runup to Edinburgh, there was _everything_ to do. And that was fine, but left little time to be ferrying across London in time for studio recordings to end. No, if he'd wanted to visit he would have said so and the text message didn't even imply it and Michael wouldn't have gone home, not just yet. He'd heard too much just to go home quietly and Russell knew this his own fault. Dara only smiled once more and left the room, leaving the door open. Russell watched the corridor outside and was unsurprised to see Michael's face pop up from one side. A smile. Russell tried to return it. Michael stepped into the room but didn't close the door.

"So."

"... So..."

"What happens now, I wonder?" That playful tone suggested that Michael knew _exactly_ what happened now.

Russell responded to that by standing wordlessly and walking over to Michael without looking at him, holding him without feeling it, kissing him without meaning it. (But that was how things always were, and) that was what he expected. He seemed enthusiastic enough, and there was a fine line between straightforward nerves and layered anticipation. It was Russell who stepped away first, but Michael didn't seem to mind.

"... And after this?"

A small shrug. "We'll go for drinks."

"... And after _that_...?"

The inevitable. It didn't have to be spoken, not now. There was a slight trepidation on Russell's brow that Michael seemed to choose to ignore, responding with a definite smile and an indefinite expression. Something in his eyes. Something in Russell's eyes. _It's been a while._

"Your place or mine?"

Russell picked up his mobile phone, looked at the message still on the screen, sent it away. Set his mobile to silent, locked the keypad. Tucked it into his trouser pocket.

"... Yours." (The former option was no option at all.)

"Well then! I believe our company is expected..."

He motioned towards the open door. Russell took his bag and followed the suggestion, closed the door, followed Michael. Couldn't help a dry expression at his thoughts, past and present. Some people weren't interested, some people were nervous. Some people ignored the rumours, some people indulged in them. It seemed that Michael was the latter of that group. So much for introducing to the fold.

This was just how things were and how they likely always would be. You could get away with a lot if you justified it properly to yourself, and the recording gave the five of them ample justification for their actions. It had been an exhausting day. They hadn't seen each other in ages (though through BBC comedy cross-pollination most of them _had_ , but this was _different_ ). They weren't about to tell anybody, so nobody would find out. Not on purpose, at least. Another series, the familiar dilemma. A double-length series, twice the trouble. Russell watched the back of Michael's head as they walked along the BBC corridors and knew that even if the situation were the same but for Mark, it would still be _exactly_ the same. For any jealousy between them, the two of them seemed to fall into their roles easily enough. At first Russell had thought Ed the bad influence, but learnt with time that Dara was far worse.

Mark still didn't have to know, though. Russell felt that if he could believe that Mark would be angry then that was enough justification not to tell him; the problem with this being that Mark _wouldn't_ be angry and Russell _knew_ this. For all of his sweet text messages and innocent smiles, he _wouldn't_ be angry and that was worse than the alternative.

That was, however, a stronger justification in itself not to say anything. And Mark _wouldn't_ find out.

(Not _this_ week, at least.)


End file.
